


Condemned

by KathyRoland



Series: In Righteousness and Fury [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Captivity, Chris Just Wants To Do The Right Thing, Dark, Gen, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Moral Dilemmas, Protective Peter, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Torture, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-29 22:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyRoland/pseuds/KathyRoland
Summary: Chris Argent lives to try to wash off the blood on his hands.  His next journey is back to the beginning for him, to infiltrate a secretive hospital and uncover answers to the mysteries that it poses.  He will do much to reach his goal, but will it ever be worth it?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> “Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this.”

Chris sighed gustily as he pulled up in the drive way of his house.  It had been a long day.  Hell, it had been a long month.  His father had placed running their arms business squarely on Chris, having decided to enter semi-retirement.  His sister Kate was less than interested in settling down and helping, so it left a lot of responsibilities on Chris’ shoulders.  In addition to the extra work in suddenly being the head of a company he hadn’t expected, he was head to a company which had recently changed headquarters.  As one of his last acts as CEO, Chris’ father had moved the company to a small town in California by the name of Beacon Hills.  Where the headquarters moved, the Argent Clan moved as the bulk of the employees were Clan members.  The Argent Clan, under the leadership of his father until his sister officially took over was now basing its center in the same town as a local werewolf pack.  Chris hadn’t been a part of the negotiations that came up with that idea, but he had a feeling that they were tough- his father had told him to keep his head down and leave the hunting side of things alone for now.  He was to focus on the business front and his family.  Chris didn’t argue with that order.

And now that he was he was a father to a small, young, perfect baby girl, the responsibilities of fatherhood and being a husband on top of running the business seemed overwhelming.  He was glad that he didn’t need to focus on hunting on top of that.  The clan had it covered.  As it was, he felt like he never got any sleep.  He was so glad Victoria was in his wife and willing to stay home with their Allison.  Theirs had been an arranged match, but they had fallen into a good relationship.  He felt a stab of guilt in thinking about how little time he had lately to interact with his daughter and wife lately.  It had to get better than this, Chris had to figure out how to get more of a work/life balance.  

Maybe it was time to lean on Kate to come back and help out.  She was taking her role as aunt very seriously, maybe he could point out that she would help more by shouldering some of the burden of the business from him, giving him more time with his family.  If she wasn’t ready to lead the clan as was her right as senior Argent woman, then she could start by at least helping out in other parts of the family, like Chris’ duties.  

In any case, he thought as he turned off the engine, changes would need to be made soon. 

Smiling, he locked up the truck and entered his house.  It was good to be home. 

He walked a few steps in and dropped off his keys in the little bowl on the side table before he noticed something was off.  There were two suitcases in the front hallway, along with Victoria’s go-bag that she kept stocked for emergencies.  Allison’s baby travel bag was sitting next to it- filled with diapers and formula.  The car seat was also by the small pile.  

Did Victoria have an emergency somewhere?  But it looked like she was taking Allison with her, so it couldn’t be work… 

“Victoria?”  He called out. 

He heard her walking down hallway, steps deliberately loud in the silence.  She was always measured in her movement, and this time the loudness seemed deliberate. 

“Hello Chris.”  Her expression was closed off when she looked at him, her stance wide and her chin raised up. 

“Did something happen?  Do we need to go somewhere?” 

Victoria studied him for a moment.  “I had thought about doing this before you came home.  But in the end, I owe you this at least.  I’m taking Allison, and I’m breaking us from the family.  We are Argents no longer- I renounce the Argent name.” 

Chris’ breath left his body.  What was happening?  

“What?  Victoria, what, why?” 

She just stared at him dispassionately.   “You are either a fool or playing one.  I do not wish for you to play father to my daughter- you do not deserve that.  And I will not stand by and stay under the Argent Clan when it behaves as it does.” 

“What are you talking about?”

She ignored the question.  “If you try to stop me, if you try to use to courts or anything else to coerce me into staying or in keeping Allison, I will call upon the council to levy judgement against your clan.  I will have it burned to the ground.”  Her mouth twisted down as she paused at wording of the proclamation. 

Chris felt as though his world was breaking beneath his feet.  He had no idea what is going on with Victoria.  What could have happened for her to so separate herself from him and his clan?  Why did she think he was unfit to be a father to his girl? 

“Victoria,” He held out his hands in supplication.  “I have no idea why you’re doing this.  Please, let’s sit down, and you can tell me what’s happening.  I will fix this, whatever is happening here.”

Victoria sneered at him.  “So a fool then.  There is no fixing this.  The only thing I will grant you is my silence on the matter.  In the end, it will catch up to you and yours even without my help.  If you truly want to know, if you are truly ignorant- follow your sister tonight.  See what she and her cronies are up to.  Then you can see what it is that you’re a part of.”  She looked at him, judging.  “You might be a good man Chris, but you’re tainted by your very blood.  Willful ignorance is not an excuse I will take.  No action that you might do will dissuade me.  We two are severed from you and yours.” 

She continued mercilessly, “I’ve called my brother.  He’s going to meet me soon and take Allison and me back home.  If you try to stop us, I will call vendetta.” 

Chris looked at her, almost stupidly.  He knew that he could do nothing to stop this, but he didn’t know why.  He looked to the back room, where he knew Allison was laying.  After tonight, he would never see his girl again.  What crimes, what atrocities was his family committing to move Victoria to this path? 

“Can I hold her,” his voice caught, “one last time?  Can I say goodbye?” 

Victoria just looked at him.   “Yes.” 

He stumbled to the back room where his little girl was slumbering in her crib.  Gently, blinking back tears, he reached down and cradled her little body.  She didn’t wake.  

He heard Victoria’s steps walk up behind him. 

“If I fix this, can I…”  He trailed off, broken and lost. 

“No.  We are severed.  I put out the call this morning.  Everyone will know, though not the reason why.” 

“She’s my girl…” 

“No, she’s not.  She’s a Bextette now.  She will be raised in the Bextette clan and have a good life.  She will be given the tools to be strong, healthy and happy.  She will have no father.” 

Chris whirled around and glared at her.  “Tell me, why are you doing this?  I deserve to know why I am losing so much.  Don’t bullshit around and say you’re gifting me with your silence.”  His voice was harsh, but he kept the volume low enough that Allison slept through it. 

After a moment of contemplation, Victoria nodded in ascent.  “You clan is hunting down any supernatural pack, coven, herd, or group and is slaughtering them- innocents, children and elderly.  There is a trail of destruction in their wake and they are destroying entire communities for the crime of being ‘other’.” 

Chris shook his head wildly in protest- “What?!  Why would you think so?” 

Victoria continued.  “Tonight, your sister and her cronies are putting a plan into place to distract the local pack enough to gain a foot hold, to gain information.  Then they’ll strike and kill them all.  They plan on you staying here and setting up a base of operations and front cover for them to keep traveling, to keep killing.” 

“No, we don’t do that- we only hunt those that need to be put down.” 

“I’m sure your sister and father say the same thing.” 

Chris heard a vehicle pull up in their drive way.  Involuntarily, his grip tightened on his daughter.  Footsteps came into the house and a voice called out, “Vic?  You okay?” 

Victoria didn’t take her eyes off of Chris as she called back.  “Yes.  Get my stuff.  Allison and I will be out shortly.” 

“Got it.”  Came the reply. 

She stepped up to Chris and held out her arms, silently demanding.  

“Please…” 

“Give her to me.” 

Chris knew the laws.  He had been raised in the culture.  It was the woman who had control over any offspring.  He had no rights to his own daughter in the eyes of the community unless Victoria wished it.  If he fought her in this, he would be hunted down and destroyed by the very community he was a part of.  Broken, Chris handed her over.  Allison didn’t wake, just snuggled into the new warm body holding her.  

Victoria stepped back, saying nothing.  She looked at Chris one last time before resolutely nodding her head.  She turned away and walked out of the room, her footsteps growing fainter as she left the room, then the house. 

And Chris was alone.  

He broke and fell to the ground.  He cried like he never remembered crying before. 

After some time, which may have been minutes or may have been hours, he stopped.  He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes.  He stood up.  He would find if Victoria’s accusations where true.  He would never have his daughter back, that road has been closed to him, but he would not allow his honor to be taken away as well.  If she was speaking the truth, Chris would need to act.  He would not allow himself to waver- loyalty to the greater good would be his aim, over loyalty to his clan. 

He walked with steady steps out of the house.  On the way, he stopped and took a side arm and a back up piece.  He took his keys from the little bowl on top of the table by the door and he left his house.  He did not bother to lock up behind himself. 

 

He drove the streets in a silent hub of his truck.  He kept within the speed limit.  He didn’t allow himself to think much.  He had an idea of where his sister was.  His father he was uncertain of, so it would be his sister he would check on first.  There was a cabin on the other side of the preserve from the local pack’s center the territory.  It was close, but not any near any immediate patrol path of the local weres.  When he had heard Kate was purchasing it, he had wondered what concession the Argent Clan had given the local pack to be allowed to own property in such a location.  Now he wondered if any negotiations had ever happened.  Was the local pack even aware of the Argent Clan in town?  Was there another reason Chris had been told to keep his head down?

His thoughts turned in circles, ugly theories circling.  He kept coming back to Victoria’s words- was his clan killing, were they slaughtering innocents? 

He resolved he would know by the end of the night. 

As he turned off onto a dirt road leading to the cabin, he flicked off his trucks headlights and drove it off the road slowly.  He drove it to the side where it couldn’t be seen from either direction and got out.  He paused, listening to the surroundings and breathing in the nights crisp air. 

Slowly and steadily he crept down the side of the road to where the cabin was.  He used all his stealth skills and kept to the shadows.  He would not be hidden from any wolf in the vicinity, but he should be away from notice from any human, even a highly trained hunter like those who Kate liked to keep around her.  He heard the noise from the cabin before he saw more than the faint light cast from the lights in it.  

Harsh laughter issued from inside, jeers and hoots.  It sounded like the men and women were in good cheer, but there was something sinister in the tone of their laughter, something violent.  Chris crept as close as he dared but had to stop.  Even secure as she must had been feeling in her place, Kate had left several watchmen and women outside, their keen eyes on the look out for anything amiss.  Chris knew he would not be able to approach the cabin unseen, regardless at how skilled he was.  He would simply need to watch and observe from his hidden spot and try to find out what was going on. 

He settled himself into stillness, ready for a long night of watching.  But it wasn’t long before the laughter and the people spilled out of the cabin.  There was playful shoving between the members, and Kate strutted at the front of the group.  

“Well boys and girls, hope that was entertainment enough for you!” 

The group responded raucously and they turned into playful jokes between themselves.   

Chris heard another vehicle approaching and made certain he would be well hidden from any stray light coming his way.  He need not have worried- even the lookouts were having fun and ignoring their surroundings.  As the car drove up, Chris recognized it as his fathers.  

The car parked and the patriarch of the Argent Clan stepped out.  He nodded to the group before questioning Kate.  

“Is it done?” 

“Yep.  Got you a two for one special.  They’re be distracted enough to be chasing their own tails for a while and ignoring everything else.” 

“You have a way in?” 

Kate scoffed in response.  “A poor, pathetic runt of a teenager- thinks with his balls instead of anything else.  I’ll have him singing for me in no time.  After all, no one will be paying any attention to the lost little thing, as they’ll all be looking for momma!” 

“Hm.”  He nodded approvingly.  “Well, come on, let’s go out for a few rounds.  Josh can do cleanup duty later- I got a shipment of lye coming in in the morning.  It should keep til then- you got the wards up still?” 

Kate tossed her head.  “Of course.  You taught me well enough to keep focused on the small things!” 

“Yes, and I’m proud of you for learning.  Now come on- let’s get a drink at the Drunken Goldfish.” 

With cheer, the group split up into different vehicles and drove off one by one.  

Chris stayed where he was, waiting and watching.  When 20 minutes had gone by, he moved from cover.  Slowly and cautiously, he moved forward to the cabin.  He used his own key in the lock and opened it, wondering what he would find. 

The room was dark, but he took out his flashlight.  The first room was simply a mudroom that opened into a kitchen.  There were empty beer bottles on the counter and glasses stacked in the sink awaiting cleaning.  He moved on.  The next room had been a seating area.  But the couches had been moved back to the sides and a tarp laid down in the center of the room.  On top of the tarp was a sturdy chair, on which a dead woman was strapped.  She had been viciously beaten before death, but it was the cause of death that had Chris stepping back in horror. 

The woman had been pregnant- in the last stages of pregnancy it seemed.  The fetus had been cut out of her and was impaled with a knife on the ground.  It was obvious that the woman had bled out from the wound of having her child ripped from her womb.  Her face was frozen in horror and her dead eyes stayed focused on the small form on the ground.  She had pulled against her restraints so viciously, the ropes had dug deep into her skin.  She had died fighting. 

He stepped back, the light of his flashlight still trained on the scene in front of him.  

He turned and walked away, mechanically locking the door behind him.  He left no trace as he slowly walked back to his truck.  About half way there, he stopped and threw up bile onto the ground.  He stayed standing and just breathed for a while before kicking some dirt over the mess and continuing on.  He walked to his truck and got in.  He sat for a long time in silence, before necessity compelled him to leave before he stayed too long and risked being found.  

He doesn’t remember the drive home.  It seemed like he blinked and one moment he was sitting in the truck in the woods and the next he was closing his front door behind himself.  This time, he kept his keys in his hand.  He walked up to the empty nursery on the second floor and sat in the rocking chair.  He sat in the dark and brooded.  He knew what his next step would be.  The good of the many, he thought to himself.  

He took out his mobile phone and dialed a number that he had memorized a long time ago. 

The other end picked up by the second ring. 

“Yes?” Upon hearing the voice, Chris’ hands stop shaking.  This is his path now. 

“It’s me.  Send out word to the Magistrate of the Council.  I’m declaring a clan anathema and calling for them to be broken.” 

“Jesus, Chris!” 

“I want Full Justice- no stone unturned.” 

“Full Justice?  Fuck!  What clan?” 

Chris took another deep breath.  “The Argent Clan.” 

There was a shocked silence.  “Chris…” 

“There should be record of it already, but there is no more Victoria or Allison Argent.  They are Bextette and cleaved from the Argent Clan willingly.” 

“Okay, okay, but what about you?  It doesn’t matter if you’re the one to report it, you’ll still be viewed as an Argent.  Christ Chris, what’s happening?” 

“I know the consequences.  Get it done.”  Chris hung up. 

He sat in the dark for the rest of the night.  He never slept that night, just sat and wondered how things had fallen to ruin so quickly.  There was a price for blindness, he thought viciously, and he was finding it.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't expected to get another chapter out so soon, but I was home sick today, which gave me enough time to finish this up. I'd love to hear what you think!

Chris entered his apartment and turned on a light to chase away some of the gathering darkness encroaching at dusk in his small, dusty place. 

Another day of dull, mindless work.  He was between jobs for the council at the moment, and it was wearing thin.

Years had passed since the Argent Clan had been disbarred and so judged.  Many years.  Many former clan members were either running from their past or dead by vendetta.  Only two others besides Chris had kept the Argent name.  A few young lucky ones had been absorbed into other clans, but they would carry the stigma of association until they died.  

As for Chris, he kept his name but he would never hunt again, unless by direct decree by the council.  Instead, he worked for the council as a contractor- doing the dangerous and messy jobs that they needed done.  In between jobs for the council, he kept up the tatters of his old business, which was now downsized to just a few employees.  Without the hidden and underground support of the hunter community, it had lost much of its connections and networking.  Chris had worked hard in keeping it running.  Some days, it seemed like hard work was the only thing that could make him function.  It was the only thing to keep him focused on something other than the hopelessness of his life. 

Sighing, he divested himself of his jacket and wallet and made his way to his small kitchen.  He got out a frozen dinner and started cooking it in the microwave.  

Before it was done heating, his phone rang.  He walked over to the counter where it was plugged in charging and answered. 

“Yes?” 

“And hello to you too, Chris.” 

“Hi Mike.”  Chris felt something in him relax.  There was a job, a mission for him.  One more reparation he could make with his own sweat and blood and body.  

“Got a job for you.  But you’re not going to like it.  Just say the word and I’ll tell the council to shove it where the sun don’t shine.” 

Chris raised his eyebrows.  “Why don’t you tell me what the job is before I make the decision.” 

“It’s in Beacon Hills.” 

Chris stopped.  His world seemed to stop as well, and he felt himself sway.  He focused on getting his breath back. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

“Something’s up.  It’s a mystery cloaked in a mystery, hiding in another mystery.  And it all smells rotten.” 

“Tell me.” 

“There’s a hospital- psych ward for crazies.  Only some crazies go in and never come out.” 

“Sounds like something more for the FBI or police than us.” 

“Yeah, but some of them aren’t crazy at all.  The ones that go missing are all connected to the supernatural in one way or another- pack members, creatures, mixed bloods.  There’s some mystery on why some of them committed in the first place.  And if they are committed, why don’t they escape?  Hard to hold a troll where it doesn’t want to be, even if it’s only a halfbreed.  And our seers are picking up some bad juju there.  The last one who focused on it started bleed from her fucking eyes.” 

“Okay.”  Chris swallowed hard before he could question, “What does the local pack think of it- the Hales still run the territory, don’t they?” 

“Ah, but there’s another mystery.  Their Alpha cut them off from anyone outside.  The other packs, the council- you name it, they run them off the territory with nary a word of explanation.  Their druid is silent on the matter.  We sent a neutral party to him and the neutral party had a sudden aneurism.  We got the message- they’ve closed the borders.” 

Chris’ mind was racing.  “And what are my instructions?” 

“First integrate yourself in the community and the hospital.  Find out what’s happening at the hospital- that’s your priority.  Secondly, observe the pack.  We might know some of the pack members that you can keep an eye on, but our info is out of date- there’s probably more in town.  The Council is weary on taking on the pack right now- they’ve done nothing wrong so far.” 

“And if I find something- either with the hospital or pack?” 

“Call it in.  The hospital is on the outskirts of pack land- if needed you can get boots on ground there.  But keep that as a last resort- subtlety is what we’re going for here and if we need to invade it, the pack is going to surge to high alert and the situation might escalate.  We want info more than anything right now.  As for the pack, if you find something get fucking proof.”  

What he didn’t say, was the word of an Argent against any pack would be found wanting.  Chris knew that well enough. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?”  Mike questioned. 

“Okay.  I’ll do it.” 

Mike sighed gustily over the phone.  “Alright man.  But keep yourself safe.  It sounds like it could turn into a right goddamn shit fest.  Keep your eyes peeled.” 

“You supplying identity and background?” 

“Yep.  You’ll get a package by the end of the day.  Congratulations, you’re a recent graduate of a social work program.  You’ll be looking for a nice cushy job and will be willing to relocate.  I can send some reading suggestions for you if you to brush up on all that knowledge that comes with the background.” 

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” 

“Sure.  We’ll force a job opening in the next few days- give you time to settle into your role.  I’m in their system enough to manipulate things in your favor.  Your resume will be attached to the package I’m sending you.” 

“Sounds good.”  With a few more pieces of information exchanged, Chris ended the phone call.  

He set to packing, an easy job as he lived mostly out of his bags.  Everything important was already ready and packed.  His eyes moved to a framed picture of a smiling young woman.  Well, almost everything.  He had had no communication with Victoria after she left except once.  A few years ago, she had mailed him the photo of Allison in graduation cap and gown.  She was radiant and smiling, holding her diploma aloft.  There had been no note attached to the act of kindness, and Chris had understood enough not to acknowledge it in anyway.  Those ties were long severed.  He had a new purpose now.  

He took the picture with gentle hands and carefully placed it in a secure spot in his duffle.  It was time to go.

He copied the new address that Mike texted him into his map, and drove off.  Back to Beacon Hills, the town that stood as a reminder to his sins. 

 

Stiles was slouched down on the oversized chair.  He scowled at nothing.  This was not where he had anticipated finding himself only a month after finishing his degree in forensic sciences.  A psychiatric hospital.  He not only found himself in a psych ward, he found himself there on a judge’s order, involuntarily committed which meant he had three days to convince everyone he wasn’t a threat to himself or else he would be facing even more time locked in the adult ward of Eichen House. 

Scowling, he rubbed at the bandages on his right wrist.  Each wrist had bandages covering the sutures.  The sutures were over the wounds that everyone was calling his suicide attempt.  Stiles scoffed.  He knew enough about anatomy that if he were to try to kill himself, it wouldn’t be by cutting there.  Of course, he was smarter than to say so. 

His situation was one of almost inconceivable ill luck.  He was committed.  Everyone thought he had to tried to kill himself.  His father was in a coma, and might never wake up.  

He blinked away the wetness in his eyes.  He told himself sternly not to think about his dad right now.  The meds they had him on made everything hit him harder- the very meds that were meant to stabilize a suicidal person made his psych more fragile.  He felt he could burst into tears at a drop of a button.  He had to get out of there.  

Everywhere he looked, there were drooling patients and social workers waiting to be talked to.  They looked at him with hungry eyes.  

When he had first been restrained after a nurse had decided to do her rounds early and had walked in on the ritual at Beacon Hills General, they had injected a sedative into him to calm him.   When he had woke up, he had been re-medicated, but this time with something different.  When he had woken he was already transferred. 

Whatever it was that they had injected him with had caused him to talk.  A lot.  He had been hooked up to an IV.  But there was no reason for him to have needed fluid.  The name on the drug bag had been obscured, but Stiles was almost certain it had been Amobarbital.  But that didn’t make sense.  Why would they give him that?  He almost wondered if being locked up in the ward was making him irrationally paranoid. 

Was his recollection of that night correct?  Or was it a dream? 

He half expected to have his therapist start the conversation about delusions or flat out psychosis, but so far no one had brought it up.  They had ignored his claims of what had happened to his dad.  There were no conversations about his belief in werewolves or the fact that…  Stiles shook his head.  Maybe it had been a vivid dream.  If he had truly rambled out everything, he would have been confronted by now.  

But…   His eyes flicked to the social worker walking slowly through the common area.  The social worker’s eyes were glued on Stiles, assessing him.  Stiles slowly blinked and looked away, feigning disinterest.  Something was up.  And he couldn’t help but think whatever was up was linked to his experience on that drug when he had had no self-control over his words.  

The social worker slowly passed him. 

Stiles focused on the tv that everyone else was watching.  Something was up. 

 

Chris had settled into his new apartment.  It was in the middle of the center of the town, in one of the few apartment buildings that Beacon Hills had.  He had unpacked enough to make it looked moved in if he had a noisy neighbor around, and spent the majority of his time reading up and trying to absorb as much knowledge as possible so he could pass as a social worker at the hospital.  It would be pointless if he were hired only to be made out one his first day by way of ineptitude or ignorance in the job.  

Mike had come through and supplied a wide range of research for him- text books, academic articles, as well as some documentaries and studies.  Chris was an old hand at absorbing a lot of information quickly, even knowledge that was outside his normal purview.  He had grown used to fitting into various roles for needed jobs. 

After Justice had been called on the Argent Clan, everything had been in disarray.  Chris, along with every other family member and inner circle member of his former Clan had been detained and questioned.  Chris had been set free eventually.  Some others had been as well if they were judged innocent.  The rest were either executed or turned over to the various fractions who had declared vendettas after the information had come to light.  A few had escaped.  They were either successfully hidden or have long since been run into the ground.  It was never a pretty sight when a hunter became prey. 

It took a few years before Chris had been given his first job.  As expected, it was a job with a low chance of survivability.  He had had to infiltrate a vampire coven and find out where they were sourcing their drones from.  He had survived the job and succeeded.  He was given more jobs.  Each one he would complete, and they slowly stopped being the type of job that the council wanted him to die on and became jobs that the Council wanted him to accomplish.  He was a full agent, almost trusted.  

But he would never trust himself.  And he would never take pride in his work.  For every success only took away the fraction that he owed, that his clan owed.  He would work until his death.  And then he would face a different type of judgement. 

Chris turned his thoughts away from such considerations.  He had a job in the here and now to work.  And now it was time for his interview.  He combed down his hair and adjusted his ill-fitting suit.  He hated jobs that required him to play the civilian.  

Still, it was nice to pretend, even for just a while, that he wasn’t the monster chased by his own name. 

It was time to get a job in a psychiatric hospital. 

 

Stiles was glaring out the barred window.  They had come by again to take his blood for the third time today.  He had gone before the judge yesterday to plead his case that he didn’t present a threat of harm to himself.  But the judge hadn’t listened.  Apparently, he had been non-compliant with his treatment.  Stiles glared harder.  He didn’t know what they were talking about.  He took their stupid medications that made  his quickfire mind slow and stupid.  He went to each therapy session, but individual and group.  But that hadn’t been enough.  He was locked up until the hospital said he was sane enough to be let go. 

He would have to pretend better.  He would have to speak up in therapy about his supposed suicide attempt.  

He scoffed.  He supposed he could just go with what everyone thought- tell them he had wanted to die next to a father that might as well be dead, who was only kept alive through a feeding tube and breathing machine.  

If only that nurse hadn’t come in!  He was so close.  The ritual only required a few ingredients, and one was his blood to bind him.  Then he would have been able to wake up his father.  Everything would have been fixed.  He would have dealt with the fallout as his father realized what he had done, but an alive and angry father was better than a brain dead one. 

There was a shuffle of extra bodies and extra steps at the entrance that distracted Stiles from his thoughts.  He looked up.  A new face. 

The charge nurse cleared his throat for the patients to look up.  

“Everyone, I want you to meet your new social worker.  This is Christian Annex.  He’ll be observing things this week in the ward as he learns the ropes.  He’s new here, so please be on your best behavior.  He’ll be around shortly to talk to each one of you.”  He paused and looked around to make certain that everyone had listened to him.  He nodded.  “Thank you.”  With that, the charge nurse left the room- the man had a ball game he wanted to listen to and the common area didn’t lend the best reception. 

The man that he had introduce nodded at the room at large and smiled.  Most of the patients looked away, attention no longer needed.  

Stiles kept staring.  There was something different about the man, something dangerous.  He held himself like a predator and his eyes were sharp and knowing as he took everything in.  His gait was smooth and silent as he walked around the room, introducing himself as promised.  

Stiles narrowed his eyes.  This was a man to be wary of, he knew, but he didn’t know why he knew that. 

The older man made his way around the room, attempting contact with the patients with various levels of success.  Some were like Stiles, largely functioning, while others were less so.  Eventually, he came to Stiles. 

“Hello.  As you know I’m Christian.”  He offered a friendly smile but didn’t offer his hand.  Stiles nodded his head in greeting.  

“Hey.”  Was all that he offered in return. 

“I’d like to get to know everyone on the ward.  Can you tell me about yourself?” 

Stiles scoffed.  “I’m sure you can read up on me- everyone here seems to have access to my medical files.” 

The man tilted his head, studying Stiles.  “Perhaps.  But I want to know about you, not what someone else wrote about you.” 

Stiles let the silence stretch until it was unbearable to him.  “I’m here because they caught me cutting open my wrists in my father’s hospital room.” 

The man nodded slowly.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  Why was your father in the hospital?”

Stiles was somehow relieved that this was the first person who didn’t pursue why he had cut his wrists, in fact he seemed to ignore it entirely.  He was slightly more open in his answer, though he kept to the story, knowing better than to speak the truth. 

“There was an animal attack.  It bit my father in his neck and he bled out too much.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.  Will he be okay?” 

Stiles blinked back tears as he looked away.  Silently, he damned his medication again.  He hated feeling this vulnerable.  “He might never wake up.  They were waiting for tests when I was there.  If those tests came back bad, they were going to suggest that I take him off life support.  I don’t know what will happen now that I’m in here.” 

“Are you his power of attorney?” 

“Yes.” 

The man looked at him compassionately.  “Would you like for me to look into that for you?  Find out what’s happening, and what your options are with his care?” 

Stiles looked at him gratefully.  This was the first person to offer anything helpful to Stiles since he had been committed.  He nodded, even as he started to cry.   He angrily wiped away his tears. 

“Okay.”  The man’s voice was gentle as he looked down at Stiles.  “I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you tomorrow.  Anything else you need?” 

Mutely Stiles shook his head.  Christian nodded and excused himself to the next patient.  

Stiles tried to compose himself, aware of the other staff watching him.  He wanted out.  He wanted his father.  He wanted none of this to have happened.  

He slouched further into his seat.  But there was nothing he could do at the moment.  He just had to hope for some luck.  His eyes flicked to the older man talking to the next patient.  It felt dangerous to hope here. 

 

Chris walked away from the young man.  An animal attack?  He would have to look into that- had the pack attacked a civilian in Beacon Hills?  That would make no sense.  He would need to find out who Stiles Stilinski was and if he was at all connected to what was happening.  Chris had a gut feeling about him.  Something about the man was off slightly, and it wasn’t because he was suicidal.

Chris covertly scanned the room even as he was talking with the next patient.  He couldn’t help but notice a few employees were also focused on the man.  The two security guards never took their eyes off of him, and Chris knew he wasn’t one of the security risk patients that he had been briefed on.  Looks like he had found the first thread to pull in this investigation.

 

 

Peter laid on his musty smelling cot and looked listlessly up at the ceiling.  He had been here long enough that he knew exactly how many tiles where on the ceiling if he were to count them, how many bricks were surrounding his cell.  He didn’t bother to focus on anything, just stared out and drifted.  

This was his life now.  Get up.  Eat if he could stomach the solid loaf of something resembling food but tasting like saw dust.  Breath.  Every three days be hosed down for a shower.  Sleep.  Repeat.  

He had lost count of how many weeks, months he had been here.  Maybe even years? 

He wonders when he will die.  He wants to will his body to death, but he has a cursed inner strength that is keeping him alive despite himself.  Occasionally, he will have a distraction as someone is shoved into the cell across from his.  But they never last.  They start out screaming and scared, and die silent and broken.  He’s sick of it. 

He's sick of everything.

He breathes.  Hunger is gnawing in his stomach and eventually he’ll get up to eat the food provided.  

So another day goes. 

He drifts, wishing each breath was his last.


	3. Chapter Three

It was Tuesday, so it was pancake day.  Stiles morsey poked at the rubbery disc on his plate.  They had fake butter to put on it but no syrup.  He sighed. 

He looked up idly, then sat at attention as he saw the social worker come in through the cafeteria making his way across the room to the next hallway.  Christian made eye contact with him and nodded in greeting, but continued talking with the other employee with him.  Stiles’ eyes followed the pair.  Unwillingly, he was hoping that the man would follow through with his offer.  He needed to know about his dad.  Was there anything he could do?  Was the man even alive now? 

Once they had gone, he focused back on his meal.  Why couldn't he stop himself from hoping?  It just made things worse.   What he didn’t realize was that his interest in the older man had been picked up by several watching eyes.  


Chris was on day three of his employment at the hospital.  He didn’t have any answers but he certainly had a lot of questions.   

Entire parts of the hospital were sectioned off locked down.  When he asked about them, he was told they were unsafe structurally.  However, he had seen more than one person enter and leave through the locked doors.  He didn’t try to access the places yet, noticing a heavy amount of surveillance equipment pointed at the access points.  He noted that the hospital was more concerned about keeping that area secure than it was keeping the occupied wards secure. 

Chris had flagged in his mind the suspicious employees he would need to look into as well.  There were a handful of security personnel who lingered in the wards, doing nothing other than watching a select few patients and ignoring the others.  There were three nursing staff who did the same he had noted.  They watched four patients, each one in a different ward.  The only one Chris had had access to as yet was the young suicidal patient who was involuntarily committed. 

Chris had looked into what records were available for Stiles Stilinski.  His father was the town sheriff who was in the long term care treatment ward at the hospital.  As promised, he had looked into what he could find out about the man’s prognosis.  Unfortunately, all he knew was the man was still alive.  Privacy laws were strictly enforced at the hospital and no one he talked to was interested in violating them.  As for the young man’s power of attorney, it would only be in place once again when he was declared competent.  As long as he was committed to Eichen House, Stiles Stilinski would have no say in the treatment of his own father.  Chris hadn’t had the time yet to speak to the younger man, but he had a good excuse now.  Something told him that if he could gain the man’s trust to tell him what he knew, a great many mysteries might open up.  Chris knew that he was involved in this somehow.  Would he be one of the patients to disappear in the coming months, never heard from again?   

Chris looked around and saw one of the security guards strolling towards him.  Turning to face him, Chris stayed relaxed. 

“Annex.  Boss wants to talk with you.”  The burly man grunted when he came up to Chris.  Chris nodded easily and went to see what the director of the hospital wanted.  


The office that Chris walked into was designed to be intimidating.  There was a large desk in the center of the room, and not much else to the bleak room.  Behind it sat a heavy set man, a man with a look of someone who knew how to use his mass in the most effective manner against an opponent.  

Chris stopped in front of the desk and nodded respectfully to the director.   

“You wanted to see me sir?” 

He noted that there wasn’t even a chair set up for a visitor, he would have to stay standing the whole time while observed by the director of Eichen House.  Another intimidation tactic.   

“Yes.  The charge nurse tells me you’re settling in here.”  The man let the silence settle after his statement. 

Chris didn’t know where this was heading.  He nodded carefully and broken the silence.  “Yes sir.” 

“You’ve already started building trust with some of the patients.” 

“Yes sir.”  This was bringing back memories of being debriefed by his own father.  Chris found himself disliking the director more and more. 

“Such as the Stilinski boy.” 

Ah.  Perhaps this discussion would be fruitful.  “I talked to him briefly.  Looked into something things for him- he’s concerned about his father who’s in the hospital.” 

The director snorted.  “And what do you think of him?” 

“Sir?” 

Resting his elbows on the desk in front of him, the man spread his hands expressively.  “You’ve been trained to assess such situations.  What do you think of him?” 

Chris spoke carefully, not certain where the director was going.  “He seemed to be fairly stable.  But I didn’t interact with him long enough to really be able to tell you anything.” 

The director’s eyes narrowed and he stared Chris down.  “And what do you think of him as a hunter?” 

Chris fought against a visible reaction.  “Sir?” 

“Chris Argent.  Of the downed Argent Clan.  You came into my hospital and expected me not to know about it?” 

Chris’ thoughts were flying.  He paused a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.  “I wasn’t aware that this hospital would know my name.” 

“Why did you come back to the place that was your clan’s downfall?” 

Chris spread his hands.  “I once set up a life for myself here.  Despite everything, I thought I’d try again.” 

“And finish the job?  Burn the pack down?”  The director leaned back in his wing backed chair and flashed a grin at Chris. 

Thinking it better not to answer that minefield of a question, Chris tried to redirect.  “How do you know of this?” 

“Argent, you are something.  A man fulfilling the vengeance of his clan walks into my hospital unknowing!”  The man let out a guffaw and sat back, smiling at Chris. 

Chris’ thoughts were rapid.  The director did not seem opposed to his idea that Chris was targeting the local pack.  Chris could play to that, but it would be risky.  There were too many people who might believe any bluff he made here, there was too little trust for anyone bearing the Argent name.  Still, it seemed his best chance here.   Instead, he needed to find out more about what was happening here. 

“And what interest does your hospital or you take in it?”  He questioned. 

The director laughed.  “Consider us a potential resource.”  He leaned forward and smacked the desk hard.  “But not to the local pack!  If you want to fulfill your dead clan’s mission, you will give up on the local pack.  They must be left alone.”  The man leaned back once more.  “For now, at least.  If you prove to me that you can be useful to our cause, we will help you in yours.” 

“And what is your cause?” 

“Ah, that would be telling.  First you must prove yourself.  Which brings us back to the boy.” 

“The Stilinski boy?” 

“Yes.  I had him brought here.  I have reason to believe that he’s not human.  And even if he is human, he might be connected somehow to the supernatural.  If either of those things are true, I could have use for him.  Problem is, we do know one connection he has- to law enforcement.  Even if his father never wakes up, the boy is too connected with the local police force for me to want to risk it if I’m mistaken about him.  So it comes to you.  I want you to get close to the boy.  Find out what he is, if anything. Find out if he is connected to the supernatural, and if so, how.  And then bring me that information.  If you do this well, we can start a mutually beneficial arrangement.  And I will show you what my little empire here can do for you.” 

Slowly Chris nodded.  This was his way in.    

“Very well.  I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Good man.  I have high hopes for you Argent.” 

Chris nodded and was dismissed.  Time to pluck harder at the thread that was Stiles Stilinski.   
  


When the new social worker came in to the ward and immediately walked over to Stiles, he could feel a small thread of hope rise within, despite himself. 

The man sat across from him and nodded as Stiles carefully capped the pen he was using to fill in the lines of the sheet he had for art hour. 

“Hello, Stiles.  How are you today?”

Stiles shrugged and got right to the issue he cared about.  “Did you find out anything about my father?” 

“Unfortunately, I was told very little thanks to privacy laws.  I know that he’s still alive, but I don’t know anything further about his condition.” 

Stiles felt his breath whoosh out of him.  He knew that he would be notified if he lost his last link to everything, but there had been the suspicion that his dad had already left him that could be put to rest at least. 

The older man shifted slightly.  “Unfortunately, your power of attorney status doesn’t apply when you’re deemed incompetent.  In order to take control of your father’s treatment, you will need to focus on your own treatment here and on getting released.” 

Stiles ground his teeth and held back the response he wanted to make.  He looked at the social worker said instead, “Thank you.  Thanks for looking into that for me.” 

“Of course.  Is there anything more that I can do for you?” 

“Can you get me out?” Stiles snarked, already knowing the answer. 

The older man looked at him sympathetically.  “I’m part of your treatment team.  I add a vote in determining your treatment, but I don’t decide it.  Besides, I don’t know you very well- I would have to work with you more before feeling confident in making any recommendation.” 

Stiles looked away.  He desperately wanted to have this man be his ally- he was the only person in this place that seemed to care about Stiles. 

At the same token, there was something about him.  Stiles ran his gaze over the man.  His posture, his gait, the way he moved- it all screamed danger to Stiles.  No one else seemed to think anything off about the man, but something about him warned Stiles away, an instinctual fear. 

“Would you mind letting me get to know you?”  The social worker spoke again. 

Grimacing, Stiles thought for a moment.  Even if this man wasn’t his ally here, he might be the only chance Stiles had with getting out of the place and getting back to his father.  If he could just get access to his father, he could save the man.   

“What do you want to know?” 

“Let’s start with your father?  You told me it was an animal attack.  Were you there when it happened?” 

Stiles nodded sharply.  He would never forget that day.  His father and he had been outside arguing about Stiles’ future.  His dad wanted him to start applying for jobs, use his degree.  He, on the other hand, wanted to leave everything but his father behind. The argument had been loud and long.  He had turned away from his father when a sudden crash had him jump back.   

A giant werewolf with red flashing eyes had come out of nowhere and latched on to his father, pulling him back.  When Stiles leapt to his father’s defense, the werewolf had turned and smacked him viciously away.  His father had tried to get up to help, or to get help.  Snarling, the werewolf had turned and leapt at him again, this time aiming for a killing blow.  Stiles had recovered enough to fling the werewolf off and scare it off, but the damage had been done.  His father was bleeding out rapidly through the neck.  Stiles had applied pressure, and frantically called emergency services.   

Stiles had known what an alpha biting his father meant.  He knew he was calling in civilians to a scene where they might be in danger themselves, especially if his father turned.  He hadn’t cared about what might happen if his father turned and the emergency personnel saw it- he would deal with it later.  He had prayed that he wouldn’t die rejecting the bite.  But neither of those things happened.  His father never turned, and he didn’t go through rejection.  Instead, they stabilized him, but it had been almost too late.  His father had lost too much blood flow to the brain and was in a coma.   

Later, after Stiles had collected himself he had wondered why his father was targeted.  He knew there was a pack in the territory, but neither he, nor his father to his knowledge, had ever had any meaningful contact with them.  Why had they attacked his father?  Or was there something else going on?  Was the alpha from a neighboring pack, was it challenging the Hales for the territory?  Stiles didn’t know. 

As the days had gone by and his father’s condition hadn’t improved, Stiles found himself less and less curious.  Instead, he focused everything on his father.  When he had decided to take matters into his own hands with his father’s welfare and health, he had put together a plan.  He had known what he was doing; but to any outsider, seeing the grieving son slashing his wrists over his comatose father’s body was alarming.  And when the nurse had walked in, Stiles knew his plan was ruined.   

He blinked himself back the present and looked to the social worker.   

“Yeah.  I was there.  It was a big dog.” 

“Hm.  What happened?” 

Stiles kept his answers short and to the point, he didn’t want to over-embellish anything and chance his story unraveling.   

“We were walking out in the reserve.  A rabid dog attacked us then ran away.  I called 911, but they arrived almost too late for my dad.” 

“I’m sorry Stiles.  Did they trap the dog?” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man.  “I don’t know.  I don’t care.” 

“Did you notice anything strange about the dog?”  The man was leaning forward intently. 

Stiles stopped and looked at the man, his thoughts flying.  Was this man connected to the supernatural community?  Or the hunting community?  Was that the danger Stiles was sensing from him? 

“Like what?” 

The man looked at Stiles for a moment, considering.  “I’ve heard strange reports on the wildlife out here.  I was curious if you had anything to add.” 

Stiles licked his chapped lips.  He wished the damn meds that they pumped him full of weren’t inhibiting his thoughts so much.  Mutely, he shook his head. 

The social worker nodded his head.  “Thanks for opening up to me Stiles.  Would you like to go for a walk outside?  If you’re supervised, it’s allowed at your safety level.” 

Stiles hadn’t been outside in far too long.  “That’d be nice, thanks.” 

“Alright, let me set it up then.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

The man stood up and walked away from Stiles.  Stiles watched him leave, and tried to figure out what he should do.  


Peter opens his eyes again and stares again at the ceiling.  He had been drifting for a while, the lack of activity making it hard for him to find sleep, but he had been getting better at just lying down and thinking of nothing.  He knows that he should be up and moving, making a schedule for himself and forcing himself to exercise.  He knows that is the only way to keep sane in such a place.  But he doesn’t care.  A wolf in solitary does not remain sane for long.  And Peter’s sanity is very close to dying out altogether in his captivity.   

Last night, he had scratched at his arms until they bled.  The wounds had healed over too soon to be of any danger to him, but he remembered the blood flowing down his arms.  The combination of warm blood on chilled flesh had sparked some comfort in him.  It was the first time in a while he had done something and experience a change.  He had felt some small measure of control in his actions.    

His captures had hosed down the cell when they saw the blood, but little else.  Even though they had included Peter in spray of ice cold water, he still had his own blood under his fingernails.  He told himself he wouldn’t do it again, but he knew he was lying to himself. 

Why was he here, he wondered once more.   

Gingerly, he moved his hand to the back of his neck.  He knew that he was missing his memories.  He knew that someone had taken them away.  He had a suspicion that it was related to why he was in this hell pit.  He knew that he a pack somewhere- did they do this to him?  He felt that he had an alpha, but he knew that at least was wrong.  Perhaps his circumstance was a new thing? 

He kept running his hands over the scars and trying to think.  The sheer nothingness that he had been reduced to, the lack of anything stimulating or grounding was grossly affecting his cognitive capabilities. 

He knew alpha claws took away his memories.  Could his own claws restore them?  He flicked out his own claws and studied them.  Could he somehow access what had been blocked from him? 

No. 

He withdrew his hand.  Most likely, he would just succeed in injuring himself.  No, he needed something else to get his memories back.   

A distant set of footsteps starting coming down the corridor.  His eyes flashed and he tried to stand up, wavering before plopping back down in exhaustion.   

The footsteps came nearer and nearer.  They didn’t pause at his cell, just ran their eyes over his form and dried blood on his arms.  They did not look alarmed. 

He flashed his eyes at them and a low growl issued from the back of his throat. 

The guard continued on, ignoring the red eyes and low growl of the captured alpha.  And Peter was alone again.  
  


Stiles breathed in deeply.  He was outside for the first time in what felt like ages.  He felt something in himself relax, unspool from the tight tension he had been carrying.  The headache that he had had for weeks faded away. 

Walking at his side was the social worker.  Stiles looked at him briefly before turning away to look in front again. 

“Thanks.”  He couldn’t express how much it meant to him to be out of that building, feeling connected to the earth again, but he had to say something. 

The older man smiled at him, his eyes crinkled with the expression.   

Stiles felt a blush appear.  The man was hitting all his buttons- older, commanding, and gentle.  He looked down.  Now was not the time for his libido to be ruling him.   

They walked in silence for a while before Christian spoke.  “Can you tell me about your treatment here?” 

Stiles frowned.  “It’s going.  Badly.” 

“And why is that?” 

“No one listens to me.  I’m not about to kill myself.” 

“And yet, you tried to not so long ago.  It was only luck that saved your life.”  The social worker looked at Stiles wrists. 

Stiles frowned harder.  He knew there was no use in denying what everyone thought. 

“Yeah, well the meds here have helped put my head on more straight.  I’m not going to try it again.” 

The social worker changed tracks.  “Tell me about yourself then.  Did you grow up here?” 

“Yeah.  Born and raised.” 

“You like it here?” 

“Nah.  I was planning on getting away.  My dad’s the only thing here I care about.” 

“Where were you planning on staying?” 

Stiles shrugged.  “Dunno.  Somewhere else, somewhere different.” 

“Well, you can still do that you know.” 

“Yeah.  Just not right now.” 

The older man smiled understandingly at him.  “No, not right now.  Something to look forward to though.” 

Stiles nodded jerkily.  “Yep.” 

The older man took the cue to be silent for a while.  Finally he spoke again.  “You’re looking much better.” 

“The sun agrees with me when I’m not behind glass and bars.” 

“Oh?  You look plenty pale to me, that comes from a lifetime of avoiding the sun I think.” 

Stiles found himself smiling at the man.  “It’s genetics.  I can never tan.  I can burn up easily, but never tan it seems.”  He stumbled over a crack in the pavement then. 

Christians arms shot out and gripped Stiles, hauling him up before he could face plant. 

WIthout thinking of it, Stiles leaned in to Christian and rested against the older man’s body, soaking up the warmth of human contact.  For his part, Christian put his arms around him and gently rubbed Stiles’ back.   

He knew it was wrong, but Stiles couldn’t pull away.  He had been feeling a pull to the older man, a yearning that didn’t allow him to stay away.  And the man had been the first friendly person in this place that Stiles had felt comfortable around.  

He rested his head on Christian’s shoulder and sighed.  They stood embraced for a time, before Stiles had to reluctantly pull away.  He absently rubbed at his neck.   

Christian’s eyes followed the movement, then narrowed.  He reached up his hand and brushed against Stiles’ skin.   

“Looks like you burned yourself here.”  He remarked even as he gently rubbed his thumb over Stiles’ skin. 

Any comfort that Stiles might have felt at the gesture was blown away by a surge of panic he had as he looked down at the line of red scared into his neck.  Involuntarily, his eyes went to Christians neck, where there hung a pendant that had come up from under the man’s shirt.   

It was the Argent crest.  He took a step back. 

Christian, if that was even his name looked down, then slowly place the pendant back under his shirt again.  He locked eyes with Stiles, calm and waiting. 

“You’re a fucking hunter?”  Stiles couldn’t stop the betrayed words from escaping.  Had he been set up?  What this hunter the reason he was locked up?  Had they found out about him? 

The man looked at Stiles in silence for a while.  “My clan is no more.  I do not claim that title.”  Before Stiles could speak up, he continued.  “It’s interesting that you know of this though.  As interesting as your reaction to the blessed pendent.” 

Stiles backed up again.  “I’ve never done anything to warrant the attention of a hunter, former one or no!” 

“Okay.”  The man said placatingly.  “I believe you.  I never had any reason to think you were anything but a regular civilian here.  I’m just trying to do my job.” 

Stiles looked at him, his thoughts whirling.  He was in dangerous waters here.  Even if the hunter wasn’t here for Stiles, it was too much of a coincidence.  He had been too lax, everything might be in danger.   

“I want to go back.”  He demanded, keeping a firm distance between the two of them. 

“Okay.  Let’s go.”  The man gestured for Stiles to lead.  Feeling vulnerable with a hunter at his back, Stiles started forward.  Who was this man and why was a hunter, retired or not, working in this place? 

He would not be finding answers that day.  When they entered the ward again, the man signed in Stiles and left, saying little to Stiles.   

Stiles watched him leave the ward.  He felt a sense of doom settle over him.  


Chris walked down the hallway.  His thoughts were dark and gloomy.  He had the proof the director wanted.  But for the first time in a long time, his sense of duty was at odds with himself.   

The man, Stiles, intrigued Chris.  There was something about him, something bright and warm that made Chris want to change the world for the man.  He wanted to bring him to smile more, to laugh.  He wanted to free the man.   

Chris knew he was doing the right thing.  By betraying the other man, he was doing his job and getting closer to saving not only him but possibly many others.  He needed to get to the bottom of what was happening here.   

He knew the reason for his clan’s downfall.  It wasn’t just a few bad apples.  No, instead they had all believed that they knew the right thing, that their actions were just when going against the council.  Chris would not, could not allow himself down that path again.  He would follow the directions of the council and fulfill his duty.   

His hand reached up and rested against his pendant.  That was why he wore it.  Not as a point of pride, but as a reminder of how low he had fallen.   

Now he had a mission.  And he had a way to fulfill the mission. 

His steps faltered.  But behind him was something, someone else.  What would happen to Stiles before Chris could figure out things? 

The good of the many, Chris thought as he forced himself to walk forward again. 

He found himself at the door.  He knocked.  His choice was not a choice at all, he was doing what he had to do.   

Now if only he could believe that.  


Stiles woke up in a cell.  His mouth was dry and had a sour taste in it.  He was on a firm cot with a ratty, itchy blanket under him.  There was a heavy scent of bleach in the air, but under that, there was a musty, moldy smell.   

He coughed and blinked a few times.  He levered himself up and took in the surroundings.  His cell couldn’t be more than 7 feet by 7 feet.   The walls were concrete, and the door to his cell was barred.  He stepped up to it.  There was a long hallway, and across from him there was another cell with a prone man laying on the cot.  

 “Hello?” 

The man twitched, but didn’t respond. Stiles craned his neck.  One end of the hallway ended in a wall- a dead end.  The other side led to a single door.  It was closed.   

A bright light was on the ceiling of the hallway, casting a harsh glare on everything.  There were scuffs both in the cells and in the hallway.   

Stiles reached up and grasped the cell door without much hope.  As expected, it didn’t budge.  He looked around his cell again.  There was a toilet and a sink on one side, a cot on the other.   

He tried again with the man across from him. 

“He-Hello?  Sir?” 

The man slowly turned his head to him and looked at him with dull eyes.  He was silent.  The man had several days beard growth and a wrinkled jump suit on.  His nails on his hand were chipped and broken off in places. 

There was a smudge of blood on one sleeve, but the man had no visible wounds. 

“Why am I here?  Where are we?” 

The man blinked slowly and some awareness crept in.   

“Please…”  Stiles trailed off, not knowing what to say. 

“You’re in Hell.”  The man’s voice was rough with disuse.  “And you’re here because you’ll be fun to study.”  With that he shifted his body and turned his back to Stiles, facing the wall.   

Stiles started breathing faster, a panic attack looming.  He looked around wildly.  He didn’t understand.  What was happening?  Why was he here and what was going to happen to him? 

He couldn’t draw in a deep breath, his gasps were short and quick.  His heart was thudding against his chest, rapid palpitations that helped quicken the spiral into panic he was drowning in.   

He lurched to the cot and sat down with his head hanging between his knees, trying to catch his breath and calm himself.  He tried to ground himself, focus something other than pure terror, but he couldn’t.   

Every time he thought he reached rock bottom, life was showing him that it would get worst.  He didn’t know why, but he did know who.  That hunter.  He retched bile onto the floor.  The man he had been so drawn to had been nothing but danger to Stiles.  
  


Night had fallen and Chris was once again in his hotel room.  Outside he heard people arguing, but he turned them out as best he could. 

He couldn’t find an appetite to eat anything.  Instead, he focused on the papers and files in front of him.  He had an in now.  Tomorrow, more would be revealed to him, as the director had promised him more duties more in line with his cause.   

He knew the director didn’t quite trust Chris yet, so he would have to step carefully.  But he was getting somewhere. 

His thoughts drifted to Stiles.  It had to be worth.  It would be worth it. 

Unknowingly, his hand came up and rubbed at his pendant again.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. My laptop died with all the writing I had on it, so I had to start from scratch. Hopefully this doesn't feel too different from the previous chapters. Please let me know what you think.


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